


Of Primal Creatures

by NightReaderEnigma



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Jaime likened to a lion, Jaime/Brienne as a happy couple, Mild Smut, Missing Scene, Missing scene from Winterfell, Season/Series 08, Sexual Content, Sigils have meaning, Sparring, Time spent in Winterfell, keeping warm in winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-19 03:29:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20324347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightReaderEnigma/pseuds/NightReaderEnigma
Summary: Observational POV scenes filled with fluff and love for basking in Jaime & Brienne happiness.Set during their time at Winterfell.  All the reasons why they are soulmates.





	1. Carnality (Brienne)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is a <s>one-shot</s> (did I say one-shot?, I'm not capable! lol) couple of scenes for fun because I missed writing about Jaime and Brienne and it was cold outside....  
I'm a tad shy about posting it - but hey, I love reading any Braime story, so why not share?  
If you decide to read, thank you in advance. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne contemplates life as a snowstorm rages outside the walls of Winterfell.  
A peek into a night with Jaime & Brienne in their chambers.  
Because I love them!

The inky endless black of the night was distorted by relentless white flurries. Their pallor dampened to a haunting grey in the absence of the light.  
Tornadic bursts whipped the delicate particles into a frenzy, propelling them against the awnings with the ferocity of an intruder scrabbling to pry their way in.  
They buffeted and slammed against the windowpane, reverberating the glass as the wood grain creaked and shuddered against its onslaught.

The belly of the beast were the howling winds. Their fury driving the bitter snowstorm for hours upon days.  
A primitive force which never tired, determined to chase summer creatures into their holdfasts and then to batter against its walls.  
A predator on the hunt.

Brienne pulled the fur blanket around herself a little tighter. She sat perched upon the side of the bed staring out at the vortex of snow.  
That which lay beyond her chamber could not harm, not truly.  
Once these icy blasts had carried with it a preternatural darkness which threatened to consume humanity’s very existence.  
Perhaps this was the origin of her girlish unrest, brought about by its eldritch wails.

But that is exactly what these Northern gales did. They shrieked and cried in no manner she had ever heard from a billowing seaside zephyr.  
Wreaking havoc with their monochrome storm and forcing chill into the soul. Gnawing on bones like a starving animal.

The Starks took their sigil from this notion. A Direwolf of white and grey. Perhaps it was less the wolves of fur and flesh from which they derived its likeness.  
More accurately it would be drawn from these nights possessed - when the weather screamed its primal warning before scratching against the doors where mere mortals sought refuge from its frosty bite.  
But no – she had seen one of the wintry wolves with her own eyes. The great pale canine whose eyes flashed red, eerily pre-empting its master’s moves and bound loyally to Jon Snow’s bidding.

The Lady Knight was not a wolf herself, although she had long dwelt amongst the pack.  
Noble houses thought much and more of their chosen standard, ingrained in them for so many years then began to mimic their totem’s behaviours.  
As though the family could no longer be separated from their emblematic beast.  
Such was a recurrent theme throughout Westeros. The fish, the dragons, the bears, the stags.  
The animals graced their armour and painted their shields. Life imitated art and so too did the mighty Houses.  
_The lone wolf dies but the pack survives...._  
_He was no dragon; fire cannot kill a dragon...._

Somewhere along the way they'd lost themselves to these creatures of spirit - but with it gained their natural attributes.  
These helped their lines to thrive and prosper.

Brienne was not a majestic beast. The standards of her homeland emblazoned with starbursts and crescent moons.  
House Tarth could not claim the loyalty of the wolves nor might of the dragons. Were not blessed with fangs, claws or fiery breath.  
Mayhaps that is why her family remained vassals under the jurisdiction of their Stag heralding lieges.

But Stags were prey. And so too the Baratheons had been hunted down and torn apart by the salivating carnivores.  
_Perhaps there is something in it...._

The warm fur blanket fell from her broad shoulders, tugged away by an unruly paw.  
Her breath hitched as a hand snuck beneath her nightshift to slowly trail a finger down the length of her spine.  
The flames glowing in the hearth afforded her a reflected view in the windowpane.  
She did not need to turn to witness the lion stirring from slumber. Stealthily sneaking up behind her, emerging from his cat nap.  
Rubbing his golden head against her shoulder, mane and beard wreathed by firelight. 

She lay with a lion.  
The phrase held so many interpretations.  
A young warrior maiden green as summer grass had drawn back in unequivocal revulsion at that very thought. Had naught but sympathy for the tavern girls who had to serve their voracious appetites only to pay with their lives. Their livery of crimson symbolic of the blood they needlessly shed in the path of asserting their dominance.

But summer had become autumn, the verdant foliage changing to warm earthy hues and as their tones morphed so did her perspective. It had been easy to judge a monster when reliant upon reputation alone. Quite another to maintain that narrow minded viewpoint when faced with the man who stood at the head of the pride.  
His living colours contrasted against the portrayed image, using his powers for good and her protection. The kind of animal whose company reinforced your own abilities and you could not help but pity his enemies. At the end she was glad to have him by her side and he had proven her faith in him was founded time and time again. 

When Winter arrived, depositing waist-high drifts upon the barren ground, her emotions had done a complete revolution, in contradiction to the climate outside.  
As the temperature plummeted to freezing, her own feelings ran hot, the flames fanned by rapport and mutual regard.  
By the time blizzards blanketed the outside world, she had come to call the aureate feline her own.  
Her intimate knowledge of his true nature a treasure which shone brighter than the sun. 

Her lion was a different breed.  
One who yawned and stretched beneath her furs when she woke in the morning. Laying upon her chest or belly like a tame house cat, mewling for affection.  
Hating when his sleep was disturbed or if he were deprived of his bed partner by duty or some greater purpose than simply lazing around and loving.  
He grumbled when he was hungry or cold, snapped when irritated but anything which truly seized his heart he set upon with a fervent abandon.  
Oh, she had heard him roar, watched the bloodlust fill his emerald chased eyes if he were challenged and the lesser creatures quaked with fear in the presence of the king of the animals.  
Never was he more frightening than when he defended those whom he held most dear.  
But more so she had come to favour another place where he roared and came to his leonine best.  
A passionate display shared only between two when secreted in their bower....

She smiled to herself as his claws tugged at the fabric, growling when it was in his way.  
Lions lacked patience when they wanted to mate. This she had learned. 

"Careful...." She hissed. "....I will not have you rip another one. I do not have that many possessions in the North."  
"Good..." He practically purred at her as she pulled the flimsy shift over her head, all the better to spare it from being shredded as had the others.  
"....If you run out, they will no longer be a problem."  
She rolled her large blue eyes and bit her lip to keep from chuckling at his incorrigible sense of entitlement.  
He wrapped his right arm around her waist and pulled her close. Pressing his lips to her shoulder.  
"Why are you awake anyway?"  
"The weather. The wind is fierce tonight."  
"It's awful every bloody night." He began nipping affectionately at her neck and she tried to retain enough sensible thought (through the pleasurable sensation) to stop him before he passed the line which her armour was able to conceal. "That's why you have me to keep you warm."  
"Is that how it works?" She knew how to play his game of verbal stimulation. His mind was as sharp as his wit and he responded well to baiting.  
It increased the thrill of the kill. His other arm slipped around her, slowly sneaking its way up her chest as she spoke. "I'm glad you told me - I wouldn't have known."

"I think you do...". He had that guttural quality to his voice again, the fur of his beard both tickling and chaffing her skin. Hot breath and searing lips leaving their mark upon his prize. His wandering paw had found its way to her breast and the sensual combination was eliciting responses from a far lower region of her body.  
_Lions know how to weaken their prey...._

"Jaime...". She wanted to participate, to kiss him, to deepen this to.... anything.  
He was toying with her, teasing her provocatively as if she were a ball of yarn for him to manipulate.  
The joy he derived from the exercise was watching her unravel beneath his touch.  
She caressed his arms, leaning back into him. Moaning encouragement. Needing - yearning to turn around....

Her big cat pounced. Shifting their positions so she fell backwards into the furs.  
Grinning with delight as he grabbed her hand, raising it above her head. Straddling her playfully with that triumphant gleam in his green cat eyes.  
"Not a fair fight." She chastised without earnest. Knowing they both enjoyed this sport.  
She could challenge him if she wanted, but sometimes she gave the one pawed beast his victory.  
It made him burst with pride. 

She stroked his cheek with her spare hand, watching him nuzzle appreciatively into the contact.  
Every minute they spent like this her chest filled with such intense adoration she worried it would burst.  
Here amongst the furs, the pelts and blankets of their warm den, she pondered what manner of creature she herself embodied?  
_Where did you find this beast?_ He'd asked.  
What beast indeed to find herself reposed in the lion’s lair.  
Teasing him, enticing him, surrendering in the most delicious of ways.  
Hoping she wouldn't find herself devoured - _speaking of which….._

It was remiss to let your attentions wander. To remove your focus for a second from the agile cat.  
In that mere moment of lapse, he had seized an opportunity, relieving her of her smallclothes.  
His single paw now gripping at her thigh, whilst his stump pushed against the other.  
Urging them to opposite compass points, as the glimmer of mane on the top of his head became the only thing visible as his tongue claimed her most intimate parts. 

Many a stray feline she had witnessed in her childhood; patrolling halls and alleyways with a confidence as though they owned the world but whether they be large or small, tame or wild, they all had one thing in common - they loved to sup on a bowl of cream. How they savoured it, treasured it as one of their favourite activities.  
This lion was no different. He treated the art of tending to her with much the same dedication. Attentive and steeped in enjoyment. As though she were his favourite delicacy.  
He lapped with perfect abandon, low hums and purrs of contentment sent vibrating through her charged sensitive flesh. She wanted to call him by name, to praise him but she was robbed of words. Only able to respond in sighs and moans which simply served to motivate. The virtuoso quality of each twirl of his expert tongue a rapturous symphony of pleasure. Threatening to make her come apart and reassemble with each talented lick.  
She reached down to stroke his hair as her ragged breaths began to reach their crescendo.  
He only increased his ministrations as he sensed she was drawing closer. 

The emblems of Tarth only came into play in one aspect of her life….  
Starbursts dancing and exploding in front of her eyes. Filling her sight and vision as she cried inarticulate exclamations of delight. Throwing her head to the side to try and stifle her screams as she tasted a mouthful of the furs. Of what words she actually uttered - she would have no recollection. She knew only the leisurely release of every muscle in her body as she came down from the dizzying heights, returning from soaring beyond the crescent moon in the zenith, as she waited for the haze of stars to disappear.

Her golden creature trailed kisses up the length of her body, crawling over the top of her and looking very proud of himself.  
Her mind wryly conjured an old phrase to her mind, _‘the cat that got the cream.’_  
She smiled at the irony as blue eyes once again met green and was rewarded with a toothy grin in return.  
"Don't look so pleased" She goaded. It would have had more impact if the pitch of her voice had returned to normal - instead of retaining the breathy tones of desire and satiation combined.  
He nosed her cheek, his hot breath in close proximity raising her blood again as he purred, "Then don't make me so happy." 

He resumed kissing her neck, pressing her deeper into the furs, fortifying and creating a world which consisted solely of the two of them.  
Knowing what he needed, she wrapped her long legs snugly around his hips. Growling as she brought her hands to his cheeks, turning his face to her lips and kissing him ardently. Letting him know she wanted to mate.  
The fullness and completion which ensued satisfying her most carnal of instincts as she coupled with her counterpart.

_Yes, I lie with a lion._ She thought proudly. _And one day I wish to call myself a lioness...._


	2. Equality (Jaime)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime becomes captivated watching Brienne in the practice yard....

Naked steel glinted even in the dewy morning light. The thick air dank and heavy with moisture. A thick carpet of freshly fallen snow blanketed the ground where Jaime stood, its unblemished surface stretching endlessly beyond the castle grounds. By contrast the yard directly in front of him had been ravaged. Pristine snows muddied and trampled by heavy footfalls, the hectic manner of their creations causing their indentations to run in haphazardous directions. Kicked and stretched to reveal the sodden earth beneath.  
Although slippery and treacherous, the assault continued as the melee of boots further smeared its canvas through the zeal of their training.

Jaime stood hypnotised by the display as the blunted weapons sung their metallic melody of might and courage. Accompanied by guttural grunts and the heavy breath of exertions.  
It was one fighter in particular which he observed. 

The only female, she stood taller than all the other men, her naturally imposing frame moving with the same surprising grace which he had noted during their own first dance of swords.  
It was fascinating how such poise had been afforded to her for the fluidity of battle - yet remained evasive to her in the aspects of life to which others it flowed innately.  
_Just one of the many enthralling aspects to this unique and diverting woman. Or rather, should I say, to my woman...._

He wondered if she would respond favourably to his possessive turn of phrase?  
_Probably not._ She was fiercely independent but maybe she could forgive the proprietorial overtones if she came to appreciate how the genesis of the sentiment was affection.  
_And pride...._

He watched her hot breath create puffs of smoke as it collided against the crisp air. Her hair had begun to plaster against her forehead; knocked out of its usual controlled alignment and dampened by perspiration. A twinge of irrational envy tweaked his gut - usually it was he who ruffled her into states of disarray. Generally horizontally…. when indeed they became sweat drenched and panted far more than these soldiers did toying with their swords. 

____ Brienne’s features were set in fierce determination as she whirled and hacked away at the other fighters, gritting her teeth and driving her tourney sword to lie across one’s throat.  
"Yield!" Jaime heard her command and watched as the man helplessly let his weapon slip from his grasp. But one defeat did not make her relent, instead she moved to kick the ankles out from the assailant who came up behind her.  
_She is fantastic..._

There had once been a time when he himself had been regarded as the best swordsman in Westeros. Long ago. When he styled himself a golden lion and his right hand did his wielding.  
That all ended with the swing of an arakh yet whenever he tried to feel sorrow for the part of himself he’d lost; his memory instead drifted to the association his brain entwined with that fateful night. . .  
Sapphire blue eyes.  
Hers. Filled with strength and tenacity but fear.  
And he could no longer bring himself to mourn the extremity that was.  
For now she belonged with him instead.

_There I go again, acting like I can lay claim to her..._  
But he had felt that way for so long the assumption came naturally.  
Sequentially as sure as night would follow day.  
Simple minded creature that he had been - he hadn't even paused for introspection on his own feelings. They just were.  
They were Jaime and Brienne. The Kingslayer and the Wench.  
The Knight and the Maiden.  
It just flowed. As effortless as sword play. 

They had bonded through their experiences. They understood each other.  
They had saved each other.  
He was hers. She was his. And that is that.  
The only people who could talk to each other and touch each other the way they did.  
Brienne was the only person alive who could publicly grab his arm, swear obscenities in his face and tell him what to do.  
And he was the only person who had the right to tease and insult her.  
He could - she was his Brienne. If anyone else did, he would knock their teeth out.  
_Speaking of which..._

Jaime winced as he watched her ram the full force of her shoulder into another man's chest, jarring his jaw and sending him flying backwards. Seizing the advantage of throwing him off balance her slashes came in a blur of fury. The solider could barely hold up his own sword to parry against them, one strike near splintering the well-worn metal in two. _She is so strong...._

It was confronting to watch her in action. What prowess she displayed, her raw power.  
The intimacy of their closeness somehow made him forget. He knew she was formidable; he had knighted her himself. He had battled beside her against the undead, back to back and side by side.  
But the tender woman he had the exclusive pleasure of knowing was so much different.

It was a strange mix that made them as a couple. Both with limited experience and their own naivetes. Both of similar strength and stature.  
"I've never been with a knight before" he had remarked their first evening together.  
Bathed by firelight and drinking in each other's scars; old and new. Warring against his own eyes which wanted to indulge in her flesh and map each mark like an intrepid explorer who had stumbled across a secreted oasis.

By now of course he had - tracing each line with reverent fingers or an eager tongue, eliciting moans or whispers of his name for being able to read the story behind each and comprehend the writings of this arcane dialect only known to the two of them. Souvenirs and mementos of vanquished foes and traumas past. She naturally had done the same with him and he had thought himself fit to pass out from the sheer ecstasy of it. The way they could pay homage to each other's imperfections, viewing each as a tribute to victory and experience rather than a ghastly marring of their flesh.  
Her attentions to the puckered scar which sealed the stump of his wrist had nearly been his undoing. It spoke ‘I love you’ in more meaningful ways than the three words alone being uttered ever could.

____ His Brienne was not a delicate flower. She did not shy away from his maimed arm as more sensitive women would. Citing how his crippled self could upset the eyes and stomach. Not wanting to touch it, as though injury was somehow catching. For what those types of dainty or fragile women stylised as sweet softness of spirit was often a piteous substitution and masquerade for something else entirely.... being shallow.  
(He wholeheartedly aimed this accusation at his sister.)  
The fairer sex were often superficial, only extending skin deep. These proclivities were the same that had hurt Brienne in the past - her only crime being unable to weave an enchantment in order to feminise the face and body which she was birthed with. 

_ __ _

But that physique writhed with him beneath their furs, warming his nights with her comforting acceptance of him scars inclusive.  
Her face the first thing he saw in the mornings and each time she repeated the sweetest reflection in the pools of her eyes - genuine happiness to have him with her.  
No disappointment, nothing she wished to change; to her he was not lacking.  
Just a light which illuminated from within each time she stirred from slumber, opening her lids to discover that he still chose to lie beside her. Sleep with her. Continue that which they had.  
The innocence and gratitude of her unassuming self was achingly beautiful.

____ The other men could keep their simpering violas, slender and mild, looking liable to snap in a summer’s breeze. He would marvel instead at his mighty oak, with trunks of corded muscle and arms with more endurance than a bough. For the tree would stand when weathered and beaten, through blistering heat or winter blizzards it endured. Unwavering and stoic. Providing shelter for the other saplings with her reach and shade.  
He would be grateful for her choices, that she dwelt with him as her partner not for the protection or status he provided – but out of an overwhelming desire to couple with Jaime Lannister – the person.  
As a liege Lord with contacts, riches and influence it was seldom to find a genuine woman – they always had more to gain through his titles and little interest in the man beneath. Political alliances or coin the driving influence behind their purported infatuation with him.  
As a person who craved love and passion – aligning himself with a pretty, vapid, social climber would equate to a bland existence and obtaining the opposite became an insurmountable task.  
He chuckled to himself as he acknowledged that this had been one of his basis arguments as to why incest had seemed a viable solution for so long. 

_ _ But all that scrambling for justification was behind him now, cast off to the recesses and halls of the past along with his scandalous acts. Door shut, locked and bolted, steel bars braced against it to ensure that the sordid compulsions could not escape and find themselves a fresh victim._ _

____ Jaime was beyond thankful for his new life with Brienne.  
Never moreso than as he observed her now - at the peak of her physical finesse.  
He was past his prime and he knew it.  
She was in top condition.  
Brienne could best him with ease, put him in his place, remind him he was old and tired.  
She was younger than he and as he watched her knock man after man into the sludge it served as a worthy reminder that he was fortunate to have her.  
She did not need him. She was a pillar of courage and an exemplary knight by which all others should be measured and judged wanting. She was lowered only by her attachment to him.

____ Yet she allowed it, nurtured it. Sheltering and fanning the flames of their newfound romance to let it flourish. She ignored moral judgements and turned a deaf ear to any whispers. Welcoming him into her chamber’s night after night with an open heart and parted thighs. Making him feel at home, cherished and wanted.  
Every touch he was granted on her good graces. Every kiss a gift which she willingly gave. Everytime they made love it was with the risk of consequence for her - but its all-consuming rush, quickly became an epitome, that neither found they had the will to deny.  
His heroine again, it was she who paved their way, throwing reputation to the wind.  
Coming to him to let him know all would be well, she was drinking moon tea.  
All this for him.... from a woman whom men trembled before.  
Fearsome and renowned as she.  
Recoiling in distaste every morning as she downed the bitter brew - all so they could continue their dalliances, savouring each other's bodies with abandon.  
It was little wonder he felt compelled to worship the ground she tread upon.

He watched her shake hands with the men she had bested, the session being called to a close.  
Some limped away with wounded pride and visible bruises burgeoning to match the ones now marked upon their masculine egos.  
She was blown, doubling over at the waist for a moment to catch her breath, her cheeks delightfully bitten and red from the settling chill colliding against her heated skin. She straightened and strode purposefully towards the armoury and Jaime felt his feet shifting to follow her of their own volition.  
Taking the initiative to pursue an idea which tempted his mind. 

____ He caught the door before it could swing shut and slipped inside.  
“Jaime!” She was startled, her hand held aloft as she was about to latch the door behind her, presumably so she could strip off her armour in peace. “I did not know you were nearby.”  
“I was watching the session.” He smiled broadly, unable to conceal his wonderment. “You were magnificent.” 

_ _ Jaime watched her work her jaw, gnawing on the inside of her cheek, scuffing at the floorboards with her boot. Accepting praise was not something which came easily to Brienne, it made her awkward.  
“It was just training….” She answered modestly. “Those men are quite green.” _ _

_ _ “Even so. . .” He stepped forward, stretching his lips up the small distance to press a kiss upon her. “You need to learn to take a compliment.”  
“The only thing I need, Ser Jaime, is to bathe. I am a sweaty mess.” _ _

____ “Bathing – now there is a suggestion I like.”  
She cringed and grinned as he trailed kisses down her neck. Squirming happily as he tasted her salty skin with his tongue. He tried to pull her closer to him but became impeded by her breastplate.  
“Jaime!” She planted her hands firmly on his chest, pushing him away without using any real force. He had seen her true capabilities when she wanted to propel someone swiftly from her person and this was genteel by contrast. The kiss of a summer’s breeze when compared with a tempest’s gale. “I don’t know what you’re playing at – but I am certainly not very enticing right now.” She looked down at herself in bewilderment. Jaime did the same, taking in her full image. 

_ _ Her armour was scuffed, her boots caked in mud, the sludge extending up past her knees and smeared across one arm where she had caught herself against the ground. Pale blonde hair hung limply, its strands glued by drying perspiration and spattered with debris and errant snowflakes, yet to melt. Her ivory skin was blotched pink from rigorous exercise and embarrassment from his scrutiny. The blue of her eyes had been intruded upon by her dilated black pupils, stimulated by the thrill of the fight and hopefully something else…_ _

_ _ “I disagree.” He declared emphatically. “Tell me Ser Brienne, are female knights immune to battle lust?” She turned away in response and began unfastening the straps of her armour. Not deigning to answer. Jaime prattled on unfazed. “Because if so, it seems I have been gifted your dose by proxy. Now whatever shall I do with it?”_ _

____ She sized him up out of the corner of her eye, inspecting him without turning her head.  
Ever composed, her facial expression remained neutral but he observed her briefly lick her bottom lip. _Got you my love…._  
Since the banquet he had come to read her tell. That particular small gesture giving away her train of thought. 

_ _ “I have no idea what you are rambling about.” The metal of her armour pieces clanged together as she deposited them one by one on the table. “Wouldn’t our conversation be better spent with some constructive feedback or advice? Seeming as I had an audience, it gives me the opportunity to ask. Did you note anything in my performance which would warrant improving?”_ _

____ Jaime flashed her his trademark one sided smirk as he approached. “Last night or this morning?”  
“This morning, I did not have a practice match last evening….”  
He guffawed loudly as he waited for her to catch on, sometimes her innocence still made her deliciously easy to tease. 

____ Brienne’s eyes widened to saucers as she grasped the ‘performance’ to which he was referring. It earnt him a powerful smack upon his shoulder. “Come off it.”  
Still chuckling he wrapped both arms around her, pulling her into a passionate kiss. She was reluctant at first, still balking due to her dishevelment but Jaime knew his lips upon hers could be persuasive. After a few beats, he was rewarded with a moan and the intoxicating feeling of her mouth opening to receive him. Uniquely Brienne caresses played across his cheeks as her hands guided him with gentle force. A combination seemingly impossible but with her it was connate.  
“Hmmmm.” He prodded, a smug smile on his face. “It seems Lady Knight’s aren’t exempt. Fancy that. Now we are both afflicted….” He located a blister forming on the inside of her palm and began to kiss it affectionately. 

“Whether that be right or not, the answer is still no. I am in no fit state for loving or otherwise. I need to wash and change.”  
Having arranged her armour for Podrick to clean, she headed towards the door.  
But the lion of Lannister was not a man to surrender without a fight. He was a warrior in his own right. “Then My Lady you’ll be needing a bath.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Once again, I reiterate. I like baths.” 

_ _ Brienne paused. “Two achievements in the one task. A very shrewd recommendation Ser Jaime.” Nodding once she added. “You know I welcome efficiency.”  
Motioning for him to follow she exited the armoury whilst Jaime glowed with triumph, dashing after her with a spring in his step. _ _

_ _ The Lady Knight was truly his match in every way; they were equally strong, talented, determined.… and victors.  
For they had both won their bouts this morning._ _


End file.
